“John.” Archie pulled another beer and slid it across the bar. “Compliments.”
“Thanks.” The deputy gulped down a third of his glass and shot a sidelong glance at the disgruntled sergeant and his compatriots. “Those bluecoats giving you trouble?”
“No more than any other day.” Archie glanced at the table full of U.S. Cavalry. “You know, they’re no different from the horses they ride. Pen them up too long and they get restless.”
The deputy shook his head. “You’re more forgiving than most.”
“In a previous life, forgiveness was just part of the job.” Archie’s mouth turned up in a rueful grin. “Old habits die hard, I guess.”
Steven extended a hand to the deputy. “Hello, John. I’m Steven Bauer.”
“John Ndure.” Unlike the sheriff, Ndure didn’t seem intent on breaking Steven’s fingers. “I haven’t seen you two around. When did you get into town?”
“They came in on yesterday’s stagecoach,” Archie interrupted. “I put them up last night until they could get a room of their own.”
“Is that right?” Post peered down his nose at Archie and then returned his attention to Steven and Niklaus, the dubious cast to his gaze unchanged. “And how long can we expect to have you two around?”
“No more than a couple of days, I hope.” Though on the surface, the conversation seemed friendly enough, Steven recognized the line of questioning for what it was: an interrogation. “Like Nik said, we have business out west that demands our attention.”
Ndure reached out a hand and rubbed the wool lapel of Steven’s coat between his fingers. “Where exactly did you and your friend come upon such fine coats? They look military, but they’re of no issue I’ve ever seen, and plenty of soldiers pass this way.”
Steven swallowed. “They’re the latest style back in Virginia.”
Ndure laughed. “They should serve you well, but if you’re going to spend any time in Wolf’s Bend, you’re going to want to get some proper boots.”
Steven glanced down at his waterlogged shoes and smiled. “Without a doubt.”
“Shouldn’t be too much of a problem, John.” Post regarded Steven and Niklaus with a look devoid of so much as an ounce of friendliness. “Like Mr. Bauer said, they’re going to be leaving in a couple days.” He leaned in. “Isn’t that right, boys?”
16
Blood & Guts
“And I thought the back room of Mr. Matheson’s deli was cramped.” Niklaus’ feet extended well past the end of the narrow mattress. “And who did they build these beds for, anyway? Hobbits?”
“At least it’s warm.” Steven peered out the tiny window by his head. “We could be out in the snow.”
“True.” Niklaus tossed a threadbare blanket across his naked feet and rolled onto his side. “So, what do we do now?”
“We track down Emilio as quick as we can, make sure nothing happens to Archie, and try not to get ourselves killed in the process. Beyond that, I just don’t know.”
“Sounds like a plan.” Niklaus chuckled. “And hey, at least we made a good impression on local law enforcement.”
Steven held back a laugh. “Right.”
Their cordial inquisition at the saloon had gone on for another half hour. With Archie’s subtle guidance, Steven and Niklaus had managed to avoid most of the more difficult questions about their sudden appearance in Wolf’s Bend, though Steven had no doubt their every move would be scrutinized as long as they were in town. Post and Ndure’s well-rehearsed “good cop, bad cop” routine was well ahead of its time, the careful back-and-forth coming across as if lifted from a prime time detective drama. In the end, Steven’s earnestness and Niklaus’ humor had won the pair over—at least a bit—but that didn’t change the fact that neither of the two lawmen believed their story in the slightest.
And Steven didn’t blame them.
“You think Post ever cracks a smile?” Niklaus asked.
“I’m guessing not. Especially when it comes to strangers who are clearly holding things back.” Steven peeled the damp wool socks from his feet and slid between the sheets of an even smaller bed than Niklaus’. “I can’t imagine trying to be the face of law and order in a world where every man walking down the street has a six-shooter at his hip.”
“Not all that different from your America, Steven.” Niklaus rolled over and picked up the candle from the stool that served as their shared nightstand. “At least here, you know everyone’s packing heat.” He blew out the candle, sending the room into a twilight state. “Back home, you never know who might be—”
A loud crack echoed from the hall, followed closely by another. Though muffled by the heavy oak of the door, the sound was unmistakable.
“What the hell?” Steven sat up straightaway and hit his head on the darkened gas lamp above his headboard. “Were those gunshots?”
“Sure sounded like it.” Niklaus grabbed his clothes from the stool by his bed and headed for the door.
“What are you doing?” Steven peered at his friend through the dim light filtering in from the room’s tiny window. “I thought we were trying not to get ourselves killed.”
“I’m going to find out what the hell is happening.” Niklaus slid into his faded jeans and buttoned up his shirt. “Though if I end up dead in 1890, I’ll be wearing something besides a pair of long johns.”
“All right.” Steven rose and forced himself back into his still-damp clothes. “But you’re not going out there alone.”
Once dressed, Steven went to the door and peered out with Niklaus close behind. Two other doors across the way slammed shut as he poked his head out into the near darkness.
“No one out here.” He stepped out into the hallway. “What do you think, Nik?”
“The gunshots sounded a little farther off.” Niklaus pulled the door closed behind them and turned the key in the lock. “Maybe down by the desk?”
Together, they crept toward the stairs, Steven scanning the poorly lit hallway before them and Niklaus keeping an eye out for anyone behind. The spiral staircase at the front of the inn led back to the front desk where the young man named Levi had checked them in earlier that afternoon. Dark save for a single flickering lamp by the door leading outside and the dim glow coming from the stove in the front foyer, the desk remained conspicuously empty.
A groan from behind the large upholstered chair in the corner raised the hairs on Steven’s neck. Despite his better judgment, he rushed toward the sound and discovered a man crumpled on the floor clutching his belly. The blood pumping between his fingers appeared black in the low light of the room, almost as dark as the man’s familiar eyes.
“It’s the man from the street.” Niklaus knelt by the man’s side, grabbed an old shawl from the back of the chair, and applied pressure to the man’s belly. “He doesn’t look good.”
“No, he doesn’t.” Steven stepped around the growing pool of blood and dropped to one knee by the man’s shoulder. Cradling his head in his hands, he stared into the panicked eyes of a man who knew he stood at death’s door.
“Who did this to you?” Steven asked.
The man opened his mouth to speak, but all that came out was a string of blood-tinged coughs.
“This is bad, Steven.” Niklaus grunted as he put his full weight into the task at hand. “I’m trying to hold back the bleeding, but I don’t think I’m doing much good at all.”
“Just keep holding pressure. Maybe there’s a doctor in town who can—”
The man grabbed Steven by the front of his shirt and pulled him down to his face until their noses were nearly touching.
“He—”
The man’s words cut off by another series of coughs, the last resolved into a gurgling sound that sent a shiver up Steven’s spine. Memories of Katherine’s last moments rushed through his mind, the awful rattle of blood filling her lungs a sound he’d never forgotten. He fought back the bile rising in his throat and brought his attention back to the matter at hand.
“He?” Steven asked. “Who?”
The man raised a crimson-soaked finger and pointed to the door leading to the street. “There.” His arm fell to the floor and his eyes slid shut.
“Stay with him, Niklaus. I’ll go for help.” Steven rested the man’s head on a cushion from the chair and moved for the door. “Maybe the sheriff can—”
The front door of the inn creaked open. There, silhouetted in the pale moonlight stood Sheriff Post, his shotgun leveled at Steven’s midsection.
“Hold it right there, Bauer. Put your hands where I can see them.”
“Sheriff Post. Thank God. Someone’s been—”
“I said hands where I can see them.” Post pulled back both hammers and raised the barrel of the shotgun level with Steven’s chest. “I heard gunshots, and even in this light, I can see you’re covered in blood.”
“Wait.” Steven put his hands in the air. “You don’t understand. We found this man in the lobby. He’s been shot.”
Post lowered the shotgun all of an inch. “Show me.”
Keeping his hands up, Steven motioned Post toward the corner of the lobby where Niklaus still held pressure on the dying man’s midsection.
“We heard gunshots and came down to see what was going on.” Steven lowered his hands and knelt with Niklaus by the man’s side. “We found him like this.”
“He was alone?” Post asked.
“By the time we got here.” Steven shook his head. “We didn’t see anyone else.”
“Levi!” Never taking his eyes off Steven or Niklaus, Post lit a couple of lamps, stepped behind the desk, and rapped three times at the door there. “Get your chicken-shit ass out here.”
A few seconds passed before the door opened a crack and the front desk clerk peered out.
“Sheriff Post?” came Levi’s hesitant whisper. “Is everything all right?”
“Levi, are you aware there’s a man bleeding to death in your front lobby not fifteen feet from where you sleep?”
“Bleeding to death?” Levi stepped out into the dim room, his eyes shooting to the corner where Niklaus hunched over the man’s still form. “My God.”
Post shook his head in disgust. “Looks like you didn’t hear anything, which is funny since two of your patrons have already made it all the way from their beds to help the poor soul.”
Levi’s face went pale. “I…I must have slept through it all.”
“Must have.” Post studied Levi’s attire, the exact same clothes he’d been wearing hours before. “In any case, why don’t you make yourself useful and go track down Doc Jensen? It’s a little late for house calls, but tell him I said it’s important.”
“Yes, sir.” Levi ran from the inn, leaving Post alone with Steven and Niklaus.
“So.” Post whipped the large chair around and sat his massive frame down. “Looks like you two boys are the only ones brave or stupid enough to come out of your room this fine evening.” He chuckled under his breath. “Around here, you hear gunshots in the night, you stay put, lock the door, and hope whoever pulled the trigger doesn’t come for you next.”
“I’m getting that.” Steven watched helplessly as the man grew paler by the minute. “You know, we actually ran into this man earlier today. He was the first person we met when we hit town.”
“Funny.” Post adjusted his hat. “Could’ve sworn Archie said you two pulled into town on yesterday’s stagecoach.”
“That’s what Steven meant.” Niklaus looked up from the wadded-up shawl gripped in his fists, the woven cloth saturated with the warm crimson oozing from the man’s belly. “Today’s been a long day, but we ran into him on the street yesterday.”
Steven nodded. “He’s the one who recommended we put up here for the night.”
Niklaus shuddered. “Not sure he’d say the same tomorrow.”
“I suppose not.” Post’s attention shifted to the floor beneath a table centered on the far wall. “And what do we have here?” He rose from the chair and sauntered over to the table, kneeling by the wall to keep Steven and Niklaus in his line of sight. With a blind swipe, he fished a revolver up from the floor and held it before his face. A puff of smoke wafted from the barrel. “Hm. Still warm.”
Steven’s guts tied themselves in knots beneath Post’s suspicious stare. “Whoever did this must have dropped the gun there.”
“Exactly what I was thinking. Unless…” Post stooped by the man opposite Niklaus and pulled open his coat. Each of his pair of holsters held a gun. “Nope. Didn’t belong to this poor soul.” He met Steven’s gaze and raised a questioning eyebrow. “And where’s your gun, Bauer?”
Steven’s already knotted insides started performing full on somersaults. “Upstairs in the room.” One lie led to the next. “Didn’t strap it on before we came down.”
“Is that right?” Post studied them both. “And you, Zamek?”
“Same.” Niklaus shot Steven a harried glance. “Not too smart, I guess.”
“Not smart at all.” Post leaned forward and rested a finger at the man’s neck, his other hand firmly gripping the stock of his shotgun. “Well, damn. Levi’s going to wake up Doc Jensen for nothing.”
“Sheriff Post.” Steven raised his hands before his chest in surrender. “You have to believe me. Niklaus and I had nothing to do with this.”
“I want to believe you, boys. I do.” Post rose to his feet and rested the shotgun across his shoulder. “But first, you show up out of nowhere in my town with stories that don’t add up. Then, less than twelve hours later, a man winds up dead at the place where you’re staying, and the only people with blood on their hands are standing right in front of me.” Post’s eyes dropped to the dead man’s waist. “Why don’t one of you check this man’s pockets? See if there’s any clue as to who he might be.”
Steven’s brow furrowed. “You don’t know him?”
“Haven’t seen him around here before,” Post mumbled, “though I know his type.”
Niklaus produced a leather wallet with a folded-up piece of paper wedged inside.
“And there we have it.” Post held out his hand. “Let me see that, Mr. Zamek, and let’s shed some light on whatever malfeasance may have led to this man’s untimely demise.”
After a brief pause, Niklaus complied.
Post opened the wallet and pulled out the folded paper, his brow furrowing. “Hm. Just a photograph.” He turned the grainy picture around so Steven and Niklaus could see it. “Anyone you boys know?”
“No, sir.” Steven struggled to keep the shock from his face. “Can’t say I’ve seen this man before.”
“Same.” Niklaus shook his head. “Never seen him before in my life.”
Steven had played enough cards with Niklaus to recognize the man’s poker face. He prayed Post didn’t see right through their shared lie, as both of them knew good and well the identity of the man in the photograph.
Zed. The Black King. The architect of their banishment to the past and far closer than either of them had imagined.
“Hm.” Steven kept his eyes focused on the dark gaze peering out of the photograph. “I’m guessing that whoever this poor soul is—or, I suppose, was—came to town looking for the man in the picture.” He met Post’s gaze. “Anything else in that wallet that might shed some light on who either of them might be?”
Post opened a flap in the folded leather and his eyes grew wide with not-quite-surprise.
“Well, boys, we may not know our dearly departed here’s name, but one thing is certain.” Post held up the open wallet to reveal a five-point star surrounded by a rippled shield pinned inside, the words “U.S. Marshal” etched into the metal. “Someone is going to be missing him.”
“This is serious.” Niklaus wiped a fine sheen of sweat from his brow. “Isn’t it?”
Post studied Niklaus for a moment through his bushy eyebrows before returning his attention to Steven. “I know you two were hoping to move on in the next day or two, but I’d suggest rethinking those plans until t
his matter is settled. Leaving town right now might be looked upon…unfavorably.”
17
Tracks & Timetables
“You’ve got to admit,” Archie slid a beer across the bar, “people sure have a way of ending up dead when you’re around.”
“Don’t remind me.” Steven took a swig from the glass. “And not just anyone, this time, but a federal marshal.”
“Just another part of the Game, right?” Niklaus leaned against the bar and nodded to a table of ladies of the evening holed up in the corner. “I mean, if we could just show up, pick up Archie and Emilio, and head on to the next bus stop, we wouldn’t know what to do with ourselves.”
Steven shook his head. “You think ending up in the Wild West is part of Grey’s Game?”
“There may be more to what Niklaus is saying than any of us understand.” Archie’s gaze flicked to the door and then back to Steven. “You two landed in 1945 and, against all odds, managed to track down Grey with the help of two individuals you won’t even meet for another six decades. In doing so, you brought together those same two people, ensuring they’ll be there sixty years in the future when it will be their turn to help you.”
“Maybe.” Steven hated to admit it, but the priest had a point.
“Now,” Archie continued, “the four of us find ourselves in a tiny Wyoming town none of us have ever heard of over a century before any of us ever met and a dead man is carrying a picture of the man who sent us here.” Archie raised a finger as one of Steven’s favorite college professors had always done when making a point. “Never forget that the visions that haunted me for months before we met have left me privy to the details of every iteration of the Game to date. The one thing each had in common? In the end, very little was left to chance.”
Niklaus let out a quiet belch. “Still, I’m not sure why the Game would send all of us careening through time. From a strategic standpoint, it’s the right move for Zed to make. If the opposing side never arrives, victory becomes theirs before the first Piece is even moved. From the Game’s perspective, however, it’s all wrong.”
Queen's Peril Page 18